


existence

by call_me_steve



Series: dream and wilbur set up one (1) date and now i'm in hell [4]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: ABT THE CHARAS NOT THE REAL PPL TY, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, DadSchlatt Pog, Dimension Travel, Dream is not an asshole, Good Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), HOW IS THAT NOT A TAG FANDOM WYD, Hurt/Comfort, Jschlatt is Toby Smith | Tubbo's Parent, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Season 2, Ram Hybrid Toby Smith | Tubbo, Resurrected Wilbur Soot, Resurrection, Shapeshifter Floris | Fundy, Wilbur Soot Angst, Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Winged Wilbur Soot, Worried Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), bad's the real mpv ofc, bc technically ye, cuz thats happening soon apparently, dream and wilbur went on a date once so now im in hell, fundy is a kid in this one, he's a fox shapeshifter, his name is philza minecraft and thems the facts, in the alt dimension anyway, like younger than thirteen, no beta we die like wilbur, oh ig instead of post-canon ill say, or canon atm i guess, ranboo is vibing here, tommy is a little rascal but wil loves him anyways, tommyinnit is a little shit, watch me come back w more tags lmao, wilbur n tommy b like "cain instinct" when they see each other, written before wilbur's resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:20:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29431602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/call_me_steve/pseuds/call_me_steve
Summary: Wilbur and Dream, Dream and Wilbur.They are young, but not young enough; they are important, but not important enough; they are loved, but not loved enough; they are offered redemption, but not offered enough; they are hurting, but not hurting enough; they are both villains, but-There is a world where they never had to be.-Or, Wilbur awakens to a world that is better and kinder than his own. He isn't sure he wants to leave it: not if there's a Dream and a Fundy and a Tommy who love him; not if there's a Phil and a Techno and a Tubbo who still care.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/Wilbur Soot, Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot, Ranboo & Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & Everyone, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & Philza Minecraft, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: dream and wilbur set up one (1) date and now i'm in hell [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2118123
Comments: 19
Kudos: 251





	existence

**Author's Note:**

> help this is incoherent and a mess bc i wrote it in like hour bursts over the span of the past week haha AHHHHHHHH

They are young, but not young enough. Wilbur is still in his early twenties and has a son of his own; Dream is hundreds upon hundreds of years old and has nothing more than a nation to his name. 

(This is where everything starts.)

They are both important, but not important enough. Wilbur has fled from a crumbling kingdom, unwilling to enact his role as prince; Dream is no longer sure if he is still running from the past or if he is truly living in this present with those that claim to love him. 

There will always be a moment where two people collide: it is hard and fast and cruel. They say that this is how supernovas are made; how stars are born; how worlds shift. Someone says, _hello,_ and someone else makes a fool of themselves. Then they fall- a little harder, a little faster, a little crueler. They say that their love should never have been. They were two tyrants who thought they could love someone else; two dictators who believed they deserved something good. 

They are both loved, but not loved enough. Wilbur creates a nation, only to watch it fall: first by Dream's hands and then his own; Dream loses a nation, watching as everyone sides against him: _you have made a mistake, I can't love you like this._

(This is where everything ends.)

They are both offered redemption, but not offered enough. Wilbur dies and comes back as a ghost of himself, without memories and the little hardships that make someone alive; Dream is cast away into an exile of his own, laughed at and ridiculed and driven to the extremes. 

There will always be a moment where two people fall apart: it is easy and slow and painful. They say that this is how black holes are made; how stars die; how worlds break. Someone says, _I can't believe I ever loved you,_ and someone else doesn't say anything at all. Then they leave- a little easier, a little slower, a little more painfully. They say that neither is better than the other. Maybe they _deserved_ each other, in the end, because only someone as horrible as themselves could ever truly love the other just like that. 

They are both hurting, but not hurting enough. Wilbur gets used to a body that no longer feels like his, struggling through nightmares and family that he longs to call his own; Dream gets used to a mind that is no longer as sharp as it had been, trying not to lose track of the days he'll spend locked inside these walls.

(This is the after they both deserve.) 

They are both villains, but-

There is a world where they never _had_ to be. 

* * *

Wilbur awakens to a world that is not his own and realizes this ever so quickly. His body, for once, no longer hurts. (Of course, it still hardly feels like his own, but he's used to that.) He's missing that signature white streak he was "re-born" with and, instead, his hair is shorter and softer than it has been in years. There are soft, dark wings arcing from his back, untouched by war and accidents.

This should be alarming in it's own right- Wilbur hasn't had functioning wings since the election. These ones, however, look like they're aching to take to the skies once more. Part of Wilbur wants to follow along; the other part says, _This isn't my body. What's going on?_

He pushes himself off of the bed of pillows and blankets. When he stands, he realizes he's in a house he only vaguely recognizes- Phil's house, in L'Manburg, before everything was blown sky high that second time. 

Things are a little _different_ than he recalls- (though, he attributes that to the fact that he's going off of what little he can remember from Ghostbur's memory.) The top floor has been sectioned off so that Wilbur stands in a bedroom that hadn't previously existed. The bed is covered in soft yellow sheets and there is a guitar hanging from the wall. He assumes it to be his own, which answers exactly zero questions that are blooming. 

_Where the hell am I? What's going on? Why is my body like this?_

Most of him thinks that he should stay in his room, in case someone is playing a trick on him. The rest of him thinks that he should _leave_ this room and explore: make sure that he's correct in thinking this is Phil's house, make sure that he's right in believing he's still in L'Manburg. (How could he possibly be here? L'Manburg is no more than a distant memory, now; one ingrained into Wilbur's mind like a horrible echo he can't quite ignore.) On top of that, Wilbur needs answers. Why does he have working wings? What's the big idea with the hair? He doesn't remember previously dyeing it or cutting it.

In the end, he follows the latter idea- he has too many questions and not enough answers- and slips out the door. He finds himself in a hallway, connecting to that familiar balcony where Ghostbur saw Phil stand upon time and time again. As he peers out of it, he does not see a crater in the ground. He doesn't even see bridges rushing over stone. What he sees, instead, is walkways and flowers and _life,_ sprouting from each and every corner. Where there had once been bedrock now sits a bench; where there had once been nothing more than rock stands green grass. 

Wilbur stumbles back and tries to breathe. He is in a house that is Phil's but is not; he is in a L'Manburg that should not exist. For: an undamaged L'Manburg had never existed at the same time as Phil's home. Phil's home had come after. _Much_ after.

His hands fly up to grip at his chest. It doesn't ache like it normally does, when he gets worked up, but he can't stop himself from performing the far-too familiar action. His wings instinctively curl up; an action he's missed so much that he nearly chokes out a sob.

 _Oh Prime,_ he thinks. _What the hell is going on?_

It's then that a voice, as familiar to him as the rising tide and the changing moon, calls his name.

He thinks he may have flinched back upon hearing it: the last time he can remember, that voice had been full of rightful scorn and hatred. The last time, that voice had called him _Wilbur._

Now it calls him _Dad._

Wilbur turns his head to see Fundy standing atop the staircase, one paw resting on the railing. But-

No. This isn't Fundy. The Fundy Wilbur knows is nearing eighteen and wears a permanent frown. The Fundy Wilbur knows has gone through far-too much and, as a result, keeps his shoulders tense and his claws in a fist. _This_ Fundy hardly comes up past Wilbur's chest; _this_ Fundy stares at him with wide, innocent eyes and a body free of stress. 

"Dad?" this Fundy calls, once more. "Are you okay?" 

(This is the Fundy Wilbur had known before the revolution. This is the Fundy Wilbur had known when he established L'Manburg and his son had said, all in soft tones, _I am a boy;_ this is the boy Wilbur had swept into his arms as laughed: for his nation and his son.) 

Without thinking, Wilbur rushes forward and pulls Fundy against his chest. Fundy returns it- _returns it-_ with little hesitance and much confusion. Wilbur's wings unfurl and enclose them in a cocoon of safety. As Fundy says, "Dad, you're acting weird," Wilbur just holds him and holds him and holds him. 

It's been so long since he's held his boy. It's been so _long._

When he finally pulls away, whilst retracting his wings, he doesn't forget to press a long kiss to the tip of Fundy's head. His son's fur tickles his skin and he finds himself smiling. If this is a dream- which it surely has to be, he realizes, now- he doesn't want to wake up. Not now. Not anytime soon. 

Fundy says, _Dad-!,_ as any pre-teen would do, embarrassed by their own parent's outward affection. Wilbur lets him go, but keeps an arm around Fundy's shoulders, letting himself soak all of this in. 

He is in a L'Manburg that should not be, with a little boy who doesn't exist anymore. But, no longer is he asking, _why, why, why._ Now all Wilbur wants to do is to soak this in and never let it go. 

"Grandpa wanted me to tell you that Dream stopped by," says Fundy, as they walk down the stairs. Wilbur catches a glimpse of himself in the window pane and nearly stops- he looks years younger, lacking those heavy bags beneath his eyes and that sickly pale pallor to his skin. He isn't given much time to dwell on that, for the reference to Dream makes him freeze dead in his tracks. "He'll be coming back in a little bit, which is why I came up here to get you-" 

"Why did he come here?" Wilbur can't help from asking, tone urgent. His feathers puff up. Dream _always_ comes with bad news. Back when L'Manburg was founded, he came to say: _It's over between you and me. Soon enough, it'll be over for L'Manburg, too._ Then, when the world changed and Wilbur died, he came to say: _Where's Tommy? Have you seen Tommy?_

Once Wilbur had come back, Dream hadn't had _anything_ to say. Wilbur had visited him, inside the prison, intent to tear him to pieces over what he'd done to Tommy. _I can't believe I ever loved you,_ he'd said. _We were never meant to be,_ he'd said. Because, once upon a time, Wilbur had loved him. Once upon a time, Dream might have loved him back and they might have been happy together and they might have, might have, _might have-_

And then it all fell apart.

Wilbur put his country first and said, _I'd rather have L'Manburg than you._ So, their relationship had fallen and crumbled just as quickly as L'Manburg had under the weight of eight stacks of TNT. He doesn't regret it so much, anymore. Dream was a bad person who was driven by his thirst for power; Wilbur might not have been more of a stepping stone in his race to have everyone idolize him. 

Though, there are nights where Wilbur stares up at the stars and wonders. If he had stayed with Dream, would everything change? Would everything be _better?_

It's foolish, of course, to think that he could have ever _changed_ Dream; to think that he might have been, once, important enough to make Dream stay. It is his own fault, after all, that he lost Dream in the first place. 

It is his own fault he ended up dead and alone. (His fault he _came back.)_

He digresses and tries not to think of the long nights curled up by Dream's side, trading lifelong secrets hidden away by darkened corners. He focuses, instead, on his son and the stairs beneath his feet. 

"Whaddya mean _'why did he come here'?"_ Fundy asks, pulling Wilbur along. "He comes by every day. Are you feeling okay?" 

_He comes by every day._ To look for Tommy? No, his dreams wouldn't dare be so cruel, would they? Presenting him his lovely son and then forcing him to watch as Dream tears it down, piece by piece- That would be the cruelest gift the Sky Gods could have ever given him. 

What little peace and euphoria he had felt moments before quickly drains from his body. He figures he'll just have to confront Dream when he appears. 

"I'm just tired," Wilbur lies. "How did you sleep, my little champion?" 

The words fall from his lips as easy as they used to. Instinctively, Wilbur raises a hand and ruffles the fur atop Fundy's head, just between his ears. The motion brings him back to simpler times, when he lived with Philza and Technoblade, and spent long nights urging Fundy to sleep; when it had been just him and Fundy against the world as they immigrated to the DSMP; when it was him and Fundy, living with Tommy and Tubbo and making the world a better place for all men. 

"Pretty good!" Fundy jumps over the very last step and onto the floor. Wilbur stands on the stairs for a moment longer, staring out at the changed bottom floor. 

There's a little kitchen nook pressed against one of the walls and a table off to the side, with four chairs pulled up. Wilbur gets the feeling that they always need more. To the opposite wall are two couches, where Tommy and Tubbo sit with Ranboo, (who Wilbur still doesn't know very well), playing cards between themselves. Phil sits at the table, watching Techno pull out a chair so he can sit down. The whole scene feels so domestic and something in Wilbur's heart _swells._

The closest he'd ever had to something that felt like home was those early days, both before L'Manburg and just after its creation. Tommy and Tubbo were inseparable and Fundy would flock after them, mesmerized by his _"cool older uncles."_ By the time L'Manburg had come to fruition, Eret and Wilbur would hang back, watching them fight between themselves. That had been Wilbur's family. It was small and cluttered and _weird,_ but it was his family nonetheless. 

And then Eret betrayed them. 

And then they lost the election and Fundy became a spy.

And then Wilbur went crazy and ruined what little relationships he had left, involving Fundy and Tommy and Tubbo.

"That's good," says Wilbur, and his voice seems a bit too far away. He tries to come back to the present- to this dream. He wants, so badly, to live in it before everything comes crashing down, like it always inevitably does. “Good morning, everyone.”

Phil turns around in his chair, settling his arm onto the back of it. His own dark wings- larger than Wilbur's- flutter as he moves. "Morning, mate," he says, as Fundy scatters for Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo. "Fundy told you that Dream stopped by, yeah?" 

Wilbur pauses.

Fundy isn't, apparently, the only one who can bring up Dream so casually. Wilbur can discard that, involving Fundy. He's young and has probably been spared the facts... but how could Phil speak of Dream in this house so _casually?_ In front of Tommy, no less? His voice holds no scorn; it's only laced with fondness. Fondness- for _Dream?_ There’s absolutely no way.

But- perhaps there is a way, given that this is a world where L’Manburg is whole and everyone is younger and Phil is _here._ Perhaps there is a way, given that this is a world- a _dream-_ that seems far too kind. He closes his eyes and hopes; but he doesn’t close them for long. When they open again, Wilbur nods to Phil. 

“He’ll come back sooner or later,” Phil continues, motioning for Wilbur to take a seat. Wilbur does so, pulling his knees up to his chest. “You two have plans?” 

Just how well do Wilbur and Dream get _along,_ for Phil to be asking- without anger- if they have plans? It sounds as though this is a normal occurrence; as though Wilbur and Dream _regularly_ go out. 

Wilbur thinks of late nights and bedsheets and hoodies. He thinks of picnics and stars and secrets. _I can’t believe I ever loved you._ _I loved you._ _I love-_

Dream had broken his heart, once. Maybe Wilbur had broken his in turn.

If this is truly a world kinder than his own, then _maybe-_

No. Over the years, Wilbur has realized that it’s better not to hope for things so fickle. He no longer loves Dream like that and it would only be cruel for him to find a version of him, sweeter and stronger and _better_ than his own. 

“Maybe,” Wilbur says, a little defensively. It’s not as if he’d _know_ if he has plans or not. 

Phil puts his hands up in surrender. "I've already told you you're a grown man, mate. You can do whatever you want with whoever you want."

To that, Techno snorts. His hands sit, folded in front of him, on the table top. "That didn't stop you from threatening to drop Dream from over a hundred feet up," he commented, bluntly.

Threatening Dream sounds more familiar. But, why would Wilbur be hanging out with someone in a position for Phil- who generally got along with most people- to threaten them? Confusion begins welling in his gut. He doesn't _get_ whatever's going on here. If this is a dream, it's awfully confusing. Most times, when Wilbur dreams, he at least _understands_ what he's trying to do. (For example, when he dreams of his final moments in L'Manburg, standing before the button. For example, when he dreams he's with Tommy in exile, watching Dream _ruin_ his little brother right before his eyes.)

Before he can find a way to subtly get more information, Tommy wolf-whistles. "What's that thing that Schlatt calls you?" he asks, knees positioned on the couch cushions. _"Loverboy?"_

Wilbur goes bright red.

"Dad calls Wilbur _lots_ of things," Tubbo comments. "You might have to be more specific."

_Dad...?_

He has to backtrack, peering over at Tubbo with wide eyes. If the use of 'loverboy' and the casual drop of Sclatt's name hadn't shaken Wilbur enough, (on top of the connotations: Wilbur and Schlatt are still close and Wilbur's... he's not thinking about that at the moment), then realizing that Tubbo bears horns- covered in thin silver strands- and ears similar to a goat's or a ram's.

Similar to _Schlatt's._

_What?_

Tommy shoves Tubbo for his snark and Ranboo throws up his hands, trying to placate the two. Fundy barks out a laugh like this is the funniest thing he's seen all week, but Wilbur's just doing his best to gather what he knows.

1) Schlatt is Tubbo's dad.

2) Fundy is young, again, and doesn't hate him.

3) L'Manburg is whole- (did they happen to rebuild?)- and Phil lives here with, assumedly, Wilbur and his brothers.

4) Wilbur has his wings back, all in one piece.

5) Wilbur and Dream are... close.

Wilbur swallows his nervous chuckle and wraps his arms a little tighter around his legs. He hopes his wings aren't mimicking his emotions. 

_Oh, Prime, what the hell is going on?_

It's not... okay, here's the thing. As unsettling as all of this is, Wilbur knows that if he'd just stop _thinking_ so hard about everything, he'd find himself enamored with this scene around him. He's young and healthy, no longer tired and dragging from depression and his resurrection. Fundy is little again, possibly growing up without the weight of war and loss leveling his shoulders. Tommy and Tubbo argue without flinching and wincing; Technoblade sits without that annoyed, on-guard energy that's always bled off of him; Phil doesn't slouch beneath the blood of his son on his hands. Even Ranboo seems more confident in himself, tucked beside the other boys.

This is a better world. A kinder world.

Wilbur shouldn't want to wake up. He shouldn't want to _leave._

There is a part of him that does, if only because he is unsure and confused. Wilbur doesn't _like_ not knowing- he is normally, always, the man with the facts. Right now, he only knows what he can glimpse and, while he's _good_ at gathering up the little things, it doesn't feel like enough.

And then there is a knock on the door.

 _"I'll_ get it!" Tommy shouts, scrambling over the arm of the couch. He tosses his cards into the air and Tubbo dives for them. While Ranboo and Fundy are distracted, Tubbo picks through Tommy's cards, replacing a few of them with his own.

They _all_ know who's at the door- Dream. Why would Tommy be so excited to greet him, after all that he'd done?

 _Stupid question,_ Wilbur chides himself, as he gets up. Absentmindedly, he pats down his sweater- yellow, oddly enough, which is amusing- and fixes its collar. His wings stretch out for a moment. It's obvious that whatever bad things Wilbur remembers happening _hadn't-_ Phil never killed him, L'Manburg was never blown to pieces (twice), Techno never sicced a group of Withers on the population, Tommy was never exiled. (That's not even the _half_ of it.) Wilbur wonders if that means Dream still holds the discs, whether for jest or for real.

Everyone can hear Tommy's overenthusiastic shout of, _"HEYA, BITCH!"_ It rockets through the house and solidifies in Wilbur's chest, half-screaming at him. Just knowing how close Dream is is setting of his _fight or flight_ instinct- normally, Wilbur would _always_ choose flight. He wasn't _made_ for fighting; the best thing he could do was use a bow, because it put distance between him and his target.

Seeing Dream, though, made Wilbur want to punch his goddamn teeth in.

Wilbur moves mechanically to the front door, positioning himself behind Tommy. He raises his hand and ruffles his brother's hair, just a little too hard. Tommy shouts at him and bats at Wilbur's arms, smiling as he does.

"Get _offa_ me, you big _lug-"_

Though he revels in the fact that Tommy doesn't freeze or shrink beneath his touch, Wilbur only rolls his eyes and presses his fingertips to Tommy's back. He pushes his brother towards the couches so he'll leave Wilbur and Dream alone. Once Tommy does so- not without calling Dream a 'bitch' once more and running a hand against Wilbur’s feathers- Wilbur finally turns his gaze on Dream and-

-stops dead in his tracks.

There Dream stands, surely, but all at once, Wilbur realizes that this is a _different_ Dream. His hood sits about his neck, leaving the entirety of his head uncovered. Even his mask lays dangling from the belt around his waist in a way it never would have before. His whole face is left exposed, freckles spattered like stars and gleaming in the morning light. His eyes, an emerald green, peer over at Wilbur with fondness; with a love that couldn't be encompassed by anything less than a song written by Wilbur's own hand.

Despite the hundreds of differences between this Dream and _that_ Dream- the one Wilbur would have hurt without hesitation- Wilbur couldn't help but remember back to the man he'd met when he'd first arrived in the DSMP. The man who's laugh was obnoxiously endearing; who's voice yanked at Wilbur's heartstrings as though they were a part of a guitar.

Wilbur can't _look_ at this Dream and think of the one who hurt Tommy. He can't look at this Dream and think of explosions and TNT and walking on tightropes.

He can only look at this Dream and feel himself _fall._

Dream reaches forward as Wilbur can only stare, dumbfounded. He grabs at Wilbur's hands and tugs him outside. Even as he doubles back to shut the door, he keeps one hand wrapped around Wilbur's. Wilbur's wings puff up in the slight breeze, almost as if establishing a wall between the house and the couple.

Finally, Dream says, "Hello, Wilbur."

Unable to form much more than a sentence, Wilbur breathes out, "Dream."

It's this, somehow, that spurs Dream to begin laughing- starting with a long wheeze and then boisterous chunks that go _ha! ha! ha!._ Wilbur, just as years before, finds himself longing to hear more- finds himself hoping to make another joke that'll make Dream grip at his stomach.

"You-" Dream wheezes, "should see the _look- pff-haha!"_ He slaps at his knee. If Wilbur hadn't known Dream years before, he almost would have been concerned he'd pass out from laughing so hard. "The _look on your face- oh man!"_

"Oh, give it a rest," Wilbur says, without heat. He holds Dream's hands a little tighter, commiting the feel of calloused fingers beneath rough leather to memory. _How is it,_ he wonders, _that if this were under different circumstances, I would have thrown you to the ground by now?_ "I just- it just feels like I'm seeing you for the first time."

Dream's laughter peters off and he brings a fist to his lips. His eyes sparkle with a mirth Wilbur wants so badly to feel too. "Don't tell me this is another one of your cheesy pickup lines."

It could be, if Wilbur finished everything out with something about _falling in love at first sight._ Despite the fact that that's _exactly_ what Wilbur's doing right now, for the second- third, fourth, fifth- time over, this isn't a line or a joke. This is Wilbur speaking his mind and he feels his face go red once more.

 _You've hurt my brother,_ he should be thinking. _You've manipulated and scarred him. You tried to kill his best friend and you were planning to take everything anyone cared about. You set me to die in the snow._

 _You used to let me sleep in,_ he thinks, instead. _You found the best spot for picnics and stargazing. You gave Tommy something to work towards and you were so loyal to your friends. You loved me no matter the season._

Wilbur shuts his eyes. "Something's wrong," he says, wings drooping.

Dream goes rigid. Wilbur doesn't need to look at him to tell. "What do you mean?"

"I'm just _dreaming._ None of this is real." As his eyes open, he lets his gaze meet Dream's. He's only ruining the mood by saying this, he knows. He's tarnishing something he should instead be cherishing, just like always- with Tommy and Fundy; with L'Manburg and everything that came after. "No matter how badly I _want_ this to be real- it's not."

This is always the part of the dream where it ends. He has ruined the good moment, so now Dream is going to either pull away and send him spiraling or lean in and Wilbur will wake up. Either this will take a turn for the worst or it will not take any turn at all. Isn't that the law of dreams? Whenever you edge close to the climax of it, someone is there to shake you awake. Before, Wilbur would have expected it to be Tommy pouncing on his bed. But, Dream has ruined that for him. Now Tommy is cautious and easily frightened.

That is also Wilbur's fault, too. Many things have been ruined because of Dream and Wilbur, both.

 _Ruined is an ugly word,_ he thinks, as Dream drops their clasped hands. Wilbur readies himself for whatever will come next, fully expecting to be met with _normal_ Dream- the one who is vicious and horrible; the one who gave him TNT and made holes and buried memories. Even so, Wilbur does not turn away. He wants to memorize _this_ Dream, as best as he can, even as Dream lifts an arm and-

-and cups Wilbur's cheek, thumb brushing against the corner of his eye. "You're being stupid," he says, not unkindly. "I'm as real as I'll ever be, Wil."

"No. You're not. This isn't _you."_

"I'm the same me I was yesterday when I stopped by."

Everything inside of Wilbur yells at him to yank back out of the hold. But, everything inside of Wilbur is also tired and does not want to move.

He sinks right into Dream's touch and knows that he should not.

"Yesterday you were in prison," he explains. "Just like the day before."

Dream's brows furrow. "Why was I in prison?"

"We did a lot of bad things, Dream. We hurt Tommy. We blew up L'Manburg. We-"

"In a dream?"

"In real life." Wilbur places a hand over Dream's and gently pulls it back, before stepping away in order to gesture to their surroundings. "All of this is _gone._ L'Manburg doesn't exist, anymore."

"You aren't making any sense, Wil. Let's go inside."

Despite his words, Wilbur continues on, moving further from Dream. His wings arch, restlessly. "Tommy got his discs back, but he almost lost Tubbo just to do it. Tubbo became president after Schlatt died and Technoblade tried to kill him- Techno and Phil _destroyed_ everything in sight because they didn't want a government. Schlatt _exiled_ me and Tommy and _I was shot in the neck and I fell"_ -he realizes that he has raised his voice and can't bring himself to care- "and then when I died in the explosion, Tommy was exiled _again,_ with only my _ghost_ and _you."_

_Don't blame him. He didn't do it; not really._

_"Phil's_ the one that killed me. And- And they brought me back, but everything feels so _wrong._ Ranboo's going crazy because of some missing journal and Niki burned down the L'Manburg tree. Skeppy and Bad have been dealing with some sort of egg and Sam's running the prison and Quackity hasn't been the same since Schlatt and _Fundy-"_

_"Wilbur!"_

Wilbur's mouth shuts with an audible click.

"Look, I don't know what's going on, but- everyone's _fine."_

“You can’t prove that,” he begins to point out.

“I can.” Dream starts listing everyone out on his fingers, efficiently and mostly unprompted. "Skeppy and Bad are okay and Quackity's the same crazy bastard he's always been. Schlatt and you go out for drinks every Thursday night. Last I checked, he's still alive- and raising Tubbo perfectly fine. _Tubbo's_ fine. You just saw him. Should I keep going?"

Quietly and truthfully, as he drops his head into his hands, Wilbur says, "Yes."

Dream takes a deep breath. "I gave Tommy his discs back _months_ ago, remember? You told me how much they meant to him and that it wasn't just a game, so I gave them back. The closest Tubbo's ever come to _death_ was when Tommy dared him to chug all of those speed potions. Techno's never killed anyone outside of his tournaments and- look around, Wil. L'Manburg's fine. _You're_ fine. No one was ever exiled, you've never been shot in the neck, and Phil would _never_ kill you."

"He _did,_ Dream. And you tried to, _too."_

Wilbur feels as though his words are pitifully whiney, like a petulant child trying to make sense of the world. His wings curl about him, providing a comforting shield. Once more, Dream pulls Wilbur's hands into his own, trying to get him to look up.

"Where is all of this _coming from?"_ Dream asks, with a desperate sort of laugh. "I can pinch you to prove it, but you aren't dreaming. Everything you're talking about- _that's_ the nightmare."

"Then- then it has to be something else." His own blend of _desperate_ bleeds into his words, curling around them and weighing him down.

Why does he keep pushing it? Why can't he just rest content with what the world has set out before him? This is the perfect life- a Dream who loves him and a family that's whole. A L'Manburg that's healed and citizens who haven't suffered.

But, Wilbur doesn't _deserve this._ After everything that he's done, he doesn't deserve anything so good. That's why he can't let matters lie. It would be yet another sin in and of itself if he were to take this and run; to bite the apple the Gods had banned. No matter how much he might want it, this isn't his storybook ending laid out in black and white. _His_ finale rests six feet under, with an unassuming box and no headstone in sight. Unfinished and forgotten, forever atoning for all of his wrongs.

Dream heaves out a sigh, changing his hold on Wilbur so he's only holding one of his hands. "How about this? If you don't believe me by the end of dinner, then we'll go talk to Bad, okay?"

_I don't deserve you, I don't deserve you, I don't deserve you._

What Wilbur deserves is the Dream who tore L'Manburg to the ground. What Wilbur deserves is the Dream who fucked with Tommy and threatened Tubbo. What Wilbur deserves is _not_ the Dream who keeps trying to help, even when it seems hopeless. What Wilbur deserves is _not_ the Dream who assures him that all is well and that he can sleep soundly.

Even so, Wilbur can't stop himself from saying, "Okay."

Because, in the end, he is _selfish_ and he _wants this so badly._ He wants and he wants and it swarms his entire body, threatening to pull him into the dirt and suffocate him alongside the skeletons of beasts from long ago. 

_I want this. I want you. I've_ always _wanted you._

(He's a liar, on top of being selfish. When he said that he did not love Dream anymore, it was a lie. He _loves_ Dream- just not the twisted version that hides in the dark.) 

Dream guides Wilbur inside and urges him towards the boys. "Go play cards for a bit," he says, in a low whisper. "I'll be right back, okay?" 

Wilbur, who knows when he is not wanted, nods. He plops down heavily onto the first empty spot on the couches he can find, only to immediately get an armful of Fundy- now in fox form- and Tommy. It seems as though their previous game has long ago been wrapped up, for Ranboo shuffles the cards lazily and without urgency. His ears twitch every so often, nearly at the same time as Fundy's.

"D'ya want us to deal you in?" Tubbo asks, adjusting his position from where he sits on the floor. His knees are tucked beneath him and the silver threads coiled around his horns gleam in the midday sun, which streams in through a nearby window. "Tommy cheated in the last game so we had to restart." 

"I did _not_ cheat!" Tommy shouts, nearly kicking Wilbur in the face. _"You're_ the bitch who-"

"Tommy," says Wilbur, chidingly. It's so very easy to fall into the same script: how many times before had Wilbur ever said to Tommy, _apologize to Tubbo, please?_

As quickly as he'd burst, Tommy flops back onto the couch, defeated. He finds a new topic to focus on in seconds. "Why do you look so fucking _miserable?_ Did Dream break up with you, or something?" He gasps, far too dramatically than the situation calls for. "He _did,_ didn't he? The _bitch._ Why, I'll-"

"You're just looking for a reason to deck Dream. Sit down."

 _None of this is real,_ he reminds himself, solemnly. What's it matter if Tommy leaps at Dream with ill-intent? Had Wilbur been in the real world, Tommy wouldn't have even thought of it. _Wilbur_ would have. It's like he said earlier. Dream activates his fight or flight instinct and, while today he froze, it normally always kicks into _fight._

Tommy, before that second exile, was the exact same.

Ranboo deals out a hand for everyone besides Fundy, who claims that he'll be on Wilbur's team. He morphs out of his fox form and settles into his half-one. Then, he curls up beneath Wilbur's arm and wing, telling his dad what to do, softly.

From time to time, Wilbur zones out and forgets it's his turn. Fundy pokes his cheek and eventually yanks the cards from his hands, content to let Wilbur watch over his shoulders.

With his son manning the game, Wilbur begins slipping cards up his sleeve. When he finds a good one, he slides it beneath the table to Tubbo, who hides his grin behind his winning hand. Tommy catches him just as Wilbur hands Tubbo the final card he needs, but rather than leaping at Tubbo to keep him from finishing his turn, he lunges for Wilbur.

When Tommy lands, Fundy screeches and slips out of Wilbur's hold. He shifts into a fox and, then, pounces on Tubbo's shoulders, finding a hold on his green button up.

Wilbur quickly slips his hands beneath Tommy's armpits when Fundy's in the clear, lifting him up. Though Tommy's growing tall, Wilbur is taller. When he lifts- with some effort- Tommy's feet clear the ground and he shouts, offended.

To get free, Tommy kicks out and clips Wilbur's knee. Wilbur accidentally drops his brother, who rolls over the couch cushions, and then launches for him once more.

With a scream, Tommy tries to avoid Wilbur's hands. He fails- Wilbur gets a hold of his ankles and then climbs over him, settling down on Tommy's back. Tommy wrestles and wriggles, but eventually submits.

"You're so _heavy,"_ he grumbles.

Wilbur doesn't dignify that with a response. "Tubbo won the game."

"Because you _cheated,_ you bitch."

Something twinges in Wilbur's chest. If he were in the real world, he wouldn't be able to do this. The moment he picked Tommy up, his little brother would have gone stone-solid. Fundy never would have curled up against his side, a warm weight to keep him grounded. Tubbo would have been more reserved about playing with Wilbur.

He can't say for certain if Ranboo has changed, but as the kid looks at Wilbur and Tommy with a fond grin- not a jealous or longing one- he knows that he can say things are better here. _Better, kinder- why couldn't_ this _be the real world?_

"Who's to say if I really cheated or not?" Wilbur leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Do you have any witnesses?"

Tommy groans, pressing his face into the couch. "Ranboo, tell him how it is."

"I didn't see anything," Ranboo tells him. "That's how it is."

"Fundy?"

"You almost _killed_ me!" Fundy cries.

_"Tubbo-"_

"I don't know what to tell you," says Tubbo, shucking the cards together. "Besides the fact that that's five consecutive wins for me!"

This time, Tommy lets out a frustrated scream into the cushions. Wilbur sympathetically pats his head and tries not to smile when the scream ends in a wheeze. Tommy squirms, so Wilbur just folds his legs up beneath him so he's perfectly balancing atop his brother.

"You're _killing_ me here, big man-"

"Pat twice if you're serious," Wilbur returns, cheekily.

It's the code they've always used, ever since they were young and running about the Arctic Kingdom together. Wilbur has always been older and bigger- (though, Tommy's quickly catching up to both his height and weight)- so in order to make sure he's not hurting Tommy, he long ago gave him the 'pat twice' rule. It's a little like saying _Uncle_ though- it's giving in and admitting you can't take anymore. If you pat twice, the other gets bragging rights.

"Damn you!" replies Tommy, beginning to wriggle again.

"Oh, don't worry so much. You can be on my team this ti-"

Before he can finish his statement, Tommy _pushes._ Wilbur goes toppling to the ground without his legs there to anchor him, almost slamming his head on the edge of the coffee table they'd been playing on. Thankfully, he misses it, landing in a heap on the ground. He hears everyone shout- besides Tommy, who scrambles to his feet atop the couch in order to scream, _BITCH!-_ but the voice that drowns out all the rest: _Phil's._

"You're going to _break my table,"_ he cries, all in good fun.

Wilbur pushes himself up, one hand rising up to fix his hair. "Glad you have your priorities in order."

For a moment, father and son regard each other. Anxiety rises up Wilbur's throat in anticipation. Dream, no doubt, pulled Phil aside to talk about what was going on. Now, Dream and Phil- and possibly Techno- were bound to bring it up to Wilbur. Well, Wilbur wanted no part in the conversation anymore. He was content to just sit here with the other half of his family, playing cards and nearly murdering each other. A tale that Techno had once brought up comes to mind, of two brothers. One had slaughtered the other and was then damned by a God to wander the Earth forevermore. While Wilbur hadn't exactly _killed_ the real Tommy, he'd done more than enough damage to deserve his own horrific fate: wandering about as an empty, airheaded ghost and then coming back despite wanting nothing more than to carry on in the void with Schlatt.

Perhaps _this_ is the fate. Wilbur will wake up tomorrow, back in his _real_ bed in Techno's cottage, with a Tommy who can't look him in the eyes; a Techno who keeps giving him the cold shoulder; a Phil who's expression glimmers with regret every time they talk. He'll wake up without Fundy, because Fundy _hates_ him. He'll wake up, too, to a world in which Ranboo is at the end of his rope and Dream is locked away in prison.

 _That_ would be cruel- giving him a taste of what could have been, only to tear it out of his grasp.

 _I shouldn't sleep tonight,_ thinks Wilbur. _Not if it means I get to keep this, for just a little longer._

"My priorities are always in order," Phil says, after a beat, his tone serious. "Come with me."

Obediently, Wilbur stands and rounds the couch. He pauses only to ruffle Fundy's fur and Tubbo's hair- (he taps against Tommy's wrist and laughs when it startles him so bad, he falls)- and then disappears up the stairs when Phil gestures for him to head that way. Techno is absent from the kitchen table, so Wilbur assumes that he'd been right: Techno, Dream, and Phil are about to confront him about a reality that they don't even know about. 

He takes the stairs two at a time, curiosity peaking when it turns out that Phil's not going to follow him. It's odd, certainly, but he tries not to think about it too hard. Rather, he heads for his room. That's where Dream would probably go, after all. That or Phil's own room, at least. 

It turns out the latter is right: Wilbur finds Dream perched on the foot of Phil's bed, talking in low tones with a standing Techno. Techno has one arm crossed over his chest, holding up his other one so he can set a hand overtop his mouth in thought. Dream has his hands wrapped around the belt he has, strapped over his torso. It loops over his right shoulder and ducks under his left one; from time to time, he uses it to hold potions and ender pearls. Right now, he fiddles with it- a nervous habit he'd always had. 

"You look like someone died," says Wilbur, as he stands in the open doorway. Dream jumps- (it's only a testament to how much _this_ Dream cares about him. He'd put down his guard enough- felt _safe_ enough to- that Wilbur startled him)- but Techno only casts his gaze upwards. Nothing ever catches him off guard. 

"Phil's going to grab Bad," his brother explains, gesturing for him to join them. 

Wilbur casts a half-hearted glare at Dream. "That means you all think something's wrong." 

Well, there _is_ something wrong. He just doesn't like the fact that they decided this together, without him. That, and he'll waste what little time he has left in this dream- (because, surely, it has to be running out)- talking to Bad. At this rate, the night would be better spent with Tommy and Tubbo screaming in his ears as Ranboo sheepishly deals them another round; or with Fundy, telling him stories of the Arctic Kingdom Wilbur was born in. 

"We were going to call him anyways, remember?" 

"Besides," Techno continues. "Something _is_ wrong. Yesterday you were just fine and today you're spouting about... what, dreams? And not the _normal_ kind." 

As Wilbur stalks over to the bed, in order to sit down besides Dream, he feels his face heat up. He knows exactly what Techno's insinuating; so does Dream, going off of the quiet laugh he lets out. Wilbur shoves at the other's arm and throws his legs over Dream's folded ones. Dream lets go of his belt in order to pull Wilbur's legs a little closer to his stomach before he starts to pat out a slow tune. Instinctively, Wilbur’s wings curl around them both. 

"I'm not _spouting_ anything," Wilbur says, sullenly. "It's all true." 

Dream begins to repeat the beat he'd played out. Wilbur tries to follow it. "Not for us." 

On the third iteration of the pattern, Wilbur leans back on the bed. His head hangs off awkwardly, so he lets it hang as the blood rushes to his skull. Whatever Dream's tapping out, it sounds awfully familiar- 

And then it hits him. 

_My L'Manburg, My L'Manburg._

The tune dredges up awful memories of craters and betrayals. He doesn't want to think about that sort of stuff. So, without thinking, Wilbur says, "So, I guess we both know that my yesterday was different than yours. Does this mean Schlatt's the president, still?" 

Dream laughs once more- not the whole-hearted tea-kettle sound of joy, but the _pff-ha!_ from earlier. _"You're_ the president," he replies. "President _Wilbur Minecraft:"_ -(not Wilbur Soot, so he assumes he and Phil never had their falling out)- "amazing father, boyfriend, and brother." 

"Don't forget 'son'," comes a voice in the doorway. Wilbur and Dream both look up to find Phil sliding into the room on his own. He looks tired. "BadBoyHalo is on his way. You're not _our_ Wilbur, are you?" 

When Wilbur says _"no",_ he expects Dream to pull away. Expects him to realize that everything he said earlier was true, or to realize that Wilbur is a horrible, horrible person who doesn't deserve love anymore. In the end, Dream doesn't shove Wilbur off of him, even as Wilbur sits up- but Dream does read the look on his face and says, "You're still _Wilbur."_

_You're still mine._

"Dream told us what you told him," Techno speaks up, "but not all of it makes sense. You said that Phil and I destroyed L'Manburg, but you also said that you and Dream blew it up. On top of that, you said you... died?" 

"Yeah." Wilbur runs a hand over his face and sucks in a deep breath. "Do you want the whole story?" 

Phil nods. "We'll tell you where ours deviates. It might help Bad figure out what's going on." 

Rather than wait- since Dream says they don't need to- Wilbur begins detailing the story: The Arctic Kingdom, over twenty years ago. The story remained fairly consistent with Phil's and Techno's, (besides the fact that there never was a war in the Nether in this dream world, so Techno had never been raised as a child soldier), up until Tommy was brought into the family. Phil had still adopted Tommy as a babe, but he'd been around to raise Tommy himself rather than coming and going as he had in the real world. When Tommy expressed the desire to go join Tubbo in the Dream's new nation, the DSMP, Phil and Techno had agreed to appoint someone else the head of the Arctic Kingdom- (rather than the kingdom meeting its demise through war)- in order to move the entire family to the DSMP. Wilbur had still had Fundy young, but Sally and he had parted on mutual terms.

Once they'd moved to the DSMP, Wilbur had quickly fallen for Dream and vice versa- just as they had back in the real DSMP. This time, however, once Wilbur had expressed the idea of creating a democratic nation, Dream had quickly acquiesced. He spared him some land, (and also the time that would have been spent fighting a war), and gradually allowed his nation to be "taken over" by the influx of citizens moving into L'Manburg. This, Dream explained, had _once_ been the DSMP, but was now entirely L'Manburg. _(In my world,_ Wilbur had returned, _we broke up and went to war.)_

Schlatt _had_ joined the election, but had never formed a coalition and ultimately lost the vote fair and square. Wilbur had become president with Eret as his vice, a mix of Dream's friends and his own making up the cabinet. Tommy was, after all, still sixteen and wouldn't be allowed to join the government until he hit the age of 21, according to the rules that Wilbur had apparently put into place. That's what brought them to now: living on peaceful land, void of bloodshed. They still had a few years to come before the second election would occur and from the looks of it, Wilbur would win that, too, without a hitch.

"The people love you," Dream says. _Almost as much as I do_ goes left unsaid. 

Wilbur, in turn, details everything that had happened from the war for L'Manburg's independence to the election. He talks about how they'd lost because of the coalition government; Schlatt had become president, declared himself emperor, and exiled Wilbur and Tommy after revoking their citizenship. As Wilbur and Tommy fled the nation- and Wilbur explains this part without emotion, afraid that if he tried to use any, he'd crumble- Wilbur had taken flight in order to draw the oncoming mob away from Tommy. He'd gotten an arrow to the neck for his troubles- had plummeted to the ground, effectively destroying his wings for good. (Dream had reached for Wilbur's hand at this point, giving it a tight squeeze.) 

He talks of Pogtopia and his descent into madness- of how he went from thinking: _let's overthrow Schlatt and save L'Manburg_ to _let's blow the damn place to smithereens!_ \- of how he'd forced Tommy and Techno into situations no one should have had to suffer through. He expects Phil or Techno to rage at him for this, but when he finally lifts his head, he only sees his father's gaze melt into concern and regret. Techno, however, lets his anger simmer; though, he makes sure to explain: "Not- not at you. The situation- you never should've been forced into it." (His tone is clipped in frustration and growing hate. Wilbur tries not to focus on it.) 

By the time he gets to the story of Dream returning, in order to help fulfill Wilbur's wish, Techno's hands have curled into fists. Dream grows tense and, once Wilbur talks about how he'd pushed Tommy away for the TNT, he suddenly bursts: "Why did I keep _pushing it?"_

He effectively startles Wilbur out of his haze. "What-?"

"I _clearly saw_ how your mental state was deteriorating- why did I offer you the TNT rather than, I don't know, a _plausible_ solution? Or some way to help you that _didn't_ involve mass anarchy and destruction of property?" 

"Because you didn't love me like this. You loved me differently." Wilbur's voice is quiet. "You hated L'Manburg and wanted it gone as much as I did."

"Screw that." 

Wilbur continues on to the point in which he'd layered the TNT beneath the surface of L'Manburg. He comments on his fraught relationship with Fundy- bringing up the fact that he'd thought his son had chosen Schlatt over him, before proving himself to be a spy. He keeps Schlatt's death short when he gets to the invasion and instead speaks of the button room, only briefly explaining that he'd appointed Tubbo president rather than taking over the role himself. "Phil tried to stop me. He told me I finally had L'Manburg back- but I pressed it anyway. I blew up L'Manburg and then I begged him to kill me." 

"And he did," utters Phil, when it doesn't seem as though Wilbur will. 

_"'It was never meant to be,'"_ Wilbur replies, a ghost of himself.

Though the story isn't over, Phil crosses the room with purposeful strides. He arrives at Wilbur's side, crouching down, and brings up his hands. Wilbur flinches back, but all his father does is set his hands on his cheeks. "Oh, Wil," he says. "I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry." 

Just as he had with Dream, Wilbur sinks into the touch. He shouldn't- really _shouldn't._ This is not his Phil or his Dream or his L'Manburg. But, this _is_ a dream, he reasons. He can afford to be selfish, for when he awakens, he will be back in Hell. (Back to a father who no longer holds him like this, back to an ex-boyfriend who held his cards and not his hand, back to a nation that _does not exist._ Because of him. Because of _him._ It is _his fault.)_

"You didn't do it," says Wilbur, placing a hand over one of Phil's. Their wings mingle with one another, providing a warm feeling of safety, erupting throughout his chest. His other still grips at Dream's- he doesn't let go, because he still has more to tell. 

Phil pulls back just enough so he can, instead, tug Wilbur into a hug. Wilbur allows himself to give in and settle his chin onto the tip of his father's shoulder, though he does not let himself shake with sobs. He is a villain and does not deserve sympathy. By all means, Phil should instead be throwing him out of the house, screaming at him: _How dare you do what you did- how_ dare _you act like you deserve this after all that you've done!_ Wilbur, after all, doesn't deserve to be around a Fundy untouched by time or a Tommy left unscarred by Dream. 

"Listen, mate- your Phil should have done _better_ than that." Phil's voice slips from his throat, slick with unshed tears. "He shouldn't have- _Gods,_ his own _son-"_

Techno, finally, makes a move. He slams the side of his fist against the wall- not hard enough to dent it, but hard enough to make everything shake. Wilbur once again flinches, more from the sound than how mad Techno actually is. 

"Phil did what I asked. And- he brought me _back-"_

"Last I checked," says Dream, "Resurrection is highly damaging to a person's mind- not to mention taxing on their body. There was no telling what state you would have returned in."

Wilbur's voice rises to a snarl, minutely muffled by Phil's familiar green robes. "They did what they had to do." 

"We aren't saying they're _bad,_ Wil."

Rather than pulling away like he might have done with _his_ Phil, Wilbur only buries his face into this Phil's shoulder, cutting off the conversation. Phil places his chin onto Wilbur's head, not before settling a soft kiss to his hairline, just as Wilbur had done with Fundy hours earlier. 

This time, without his consent, Wilbur's shoulders shake and he lets out a pitiful sob.

Now, Dream moves closer, too. While Phil's holding Wilbur's upper-half, Dream piles Wilbur's legs onto his a little more so that he's, more or less, resting in his lap. Wilbur hardly reacts beyond sobbing once more. They’re more or less a tangle of limbs, feathers, and tears. 

_I miss this,_ he wants so badly to say. _Prime, I missed this so, so much._

"What about the rest?" asks Techno, tone somehow awkward and hard. (It's not that he's being rude, he just isn't ever one for more emotion than yelling- and even then, it's only in the heat of battle.)

"Techno-" Phil starts to hiss. 

Wilbur grips at Phil's clothes and shifts; his forehead rests, now, on Phil's shoulder, leaving his face free. He realizes that he hadn't actually been crying- nothing drips down his cheeks, but something _is_ brewing deep in his gut, longing to shatter free. 

"Techno ended up unleashing a fleet of withers onto what was left of L'Manburg, so everyone would leave it. But- when the withers were defeated, Tubbo became president and Phil moved into L'Manburg as they started rebuilding. Techno left for the snow biome in order to hide out in retirement." 

He finds himself glad that he's no longer looking at anyone. He can't see Dream's expression as he squeezes his hand, can't see Phil's when he grips him a little tighter, can't see Techno's when his breathing starts to shake. 

No- he can't see anything besides dark greens. 

All Wilbur does is talk for the next bout of time: he speaks of Ghostbur who had no wings and only remembered the good times. Everyone treated him like a child, he explains- (and also explains that he remembers _everything_ Ghostbur had done). Tommy was sent off to exile with Dream and Ghostbur, only for the latter to sit by as Dream manipulated and abused his little brother. Phil was put on house arrest. Tommy escaped Dream's house and left to room with Techno. 

Fundy looked to Eret- the man who'd betrayed them in the first war- to adopt him. Ghostbur built back up L'Manburg. Dream sent Ghostbur out into the snow, knowing it would hurt him. Then, he speaks of the butcher army and Techno's execution- of meeting Friend there and relying on him above all else. Phil left L'Manburg to join Technoblade; Ghostbur killed Friend and got him back; Tommy and Techno began working together to get his discs. Then, Tommy sided _against_ Techno because he wanted to save L'Manburg and Techno sided _with_ Dream to destroy it. 

Techno, Phil, and Dream blew up L'Manburg once more. Tommy and Tubbo focused on the discs. Ghostbur decided he wanted to come back to life- that he wanted to _die_ because the life he was leading wasn't worth living. 

"Does _anyone_ have any common sense?" Techno grinds out. "A sense of _loyalty?_ Or- what, everyone betrays one another and goes to team up with the person who can get them what they want?" 

Wilbur draws in a breath. "It's always been Techno and Phil. Tommy and Tubbo. Bad and Skeppy. Those are the only real loyalties." 

"What about you?" asks Dream, voice going dangerously low. This is the tone that made Tommy cower. "Who did you have?" 

He starts to say _Phil_ and then clicks his mouth shut. Phil hasn't always been there for him- starting from the morning he left for the war in the Nether. He hadn't been there to raise Tommy, hadn't been there to _save_ him during Pogtopia- he'd shown up last minute, bringing Wilbur a minor reprieve before it all went to shit once more. And while, certainly, Phil had worked towards his resurrection from the moment he'd killed him, did that _really count_ as pure devotion? 

Next, Wilbur thinks of Tommy. Tommy has never owed him anything, certainly not _loyalty,_ but they've always been close. Wilbur established L'Manburg in the beginning for his little brother- to give him a place where Dream couldn't keep lording his power over him. He'd _raised_ him, alongside Fundy, for as long as the moons shifted in the sky. 

He'd ruined it all during Pogtopia, after they were exiled together. Instead of holding out hope and giving Tommy an anchor, he'd flung them both into the sea, forcing Techno to keep them both above the surface. While he _had_ agreed to come back because _Tommy_ wanted him back- that didn't mean it was Wilbur and Tommy, Tommy and Wilbur. 

Tommy would always choose Tubbo over him. Wilbur was, honestly, fine with that. 

He didn't even spare the time to think about Techno. Ever since their eldest brother had joined them in the DSMP, their relationship was much more fraught than it'd used to be. When they were kids, things were easy. They knew each other better than anyone else in the world. 

Not anymore. 

So, not his father. Neither of his brothers. Definitely not his son anymore- and he couldn't say Niki, for she'd grown closer with Fundy during the years of Wilbur's absence than him. He'd ruined each and every relationship he'd ever had. 

_Maybe it's Wilbur and Dream,_ he thinks, almost hysterically. They're so closely intertwined that it would be foolish _not_ to think it. You could almost say that they were loyal to each other: when Wilbur wanted to blow up L'Manburg, Dream helped him achieve it. When Dream wanted to fuck with Tommy in exile, Ghostbur (Wilbur) stood by and let it happen. 

They were villains and fuck-ups, assholes and manipulators. 

Wilbur and Dream, Dream and Wilbur.

"No one," Wilbur says. 

Which is _wrong._ He might think he's always been alone, for the most part, but- Sure, yes, when he'd grown up in the Arctic Kingdom while Phil was away at war, he was alone. Soon enough, he'd had Phil back. He'd had Techno. Then Tommy. Fundy. Tubbo and Schlatt. Upon moving to L'Manburg, he'd had Niki and Dream and Eret and _so many people._

He'd never been _alone-_ he hadn't been alone in exile, he hadn't been alone when he died, he hadn't even been alone _in death._ Down there, he'd had Schlatt. Ghostbur had his family and Friend. 

The real answer should have been everyone, shouldn't it? 

Wilbur would've given his life for them- should've, at least. Like when Tommy wagered his discs for L'Manburg's freedom- when he went to that duel, expecting not to come back. Wilbur should've taken his place, even if Tommy was better at fighting. They both knew Dream would win and, at least if he'd raised his crossbow, he'd have protected his brother. 

He has more to talk about- Tommy and Tubbo getting the discs back and Wilbur being resurrected. The hotel. The egg. The syndicate. The _prison._

But- he _can't go on._ He can't bring himself to keep speaking because there is something crawling up his throat. He is made of lead and sinking; he is a ship turned upside down- (he is locked beneath it, pounding his fists against the inside of it, begging to be uncovered). Something desperate drips from his lips; something burning falls from his eyes; something _tears_ through him and he reaches his hands up to grip at his chest- (though this is not his body; this body is untouched and pure and kind). 

"I've got you, Wil, I’m here,” says Phil, and-

And Wilbur _breaks._

This time, when he sobs, hot tears slip down his face. Phil presses Wilbur into a crushing embrace so that his robes soak up the water and Wilbur lets himself shatter. It doesn't matter if this isn't his dad. It doesn't _matter_ if this isn't his Dream, or if his not-brother is watching him. Wilbur is tired and has been tired for so, so long. 

By the time he runs out of steam- which, honestly, doesn't take that long- he comes to the notice Dream's thumb running circles over the back of his hand. Wilbur concentrates on that, trying to compose himself once more-

Only to freeze, still pressed against Phil, when he hears Fundy's voice far too close for comfort. 

"Bad's here," says his son, confused. "What's going on?" 

Well- not _really_ his son. That doesn't stop Wilbur from tearing away from Phil, hurriedly wiping at his eyes as he stands. Part of raising a child involves staying strong for your child- Wilbur can't ruin this chance like he has everything else. He can only hope that he looks as steady as he tries to be.

He crosses the room and pulls Fundy- though he's growing older and taller and bigger- into his arms, settling him on his hip. It takes more effort than it would have, if Fundy were in his fox form or if he were years younger, but he can still do it. Just for show, though, he grunts loudly. "You're getting so heavy, kid." 

"You're getting _old,"_ Fundy returns, quickly shifting into his fox form. He leaps from Wilbur's arms and settles around his neck, tail brushing against his wings. Wilbur almost feels bad, given that he'll have to tell him to leave in a few minutes. 

He catches his father's sad gaze and quickly turns away towards the hallway. Dream stands and joins them, slipping Fundy from his shoulders so he can set him on the ground. When Fundy shifts back into his half-human form, there's a pout resting on his face. 

"Don't tell me you have to do _adult_ stuff," he whines.

Dream gives him a shrug. "Sorry, kiddo. He'll be free, soon." 

With a grumble, Fundy rushes ahead of them. Wilbur and Dream make their way down the stairs together- not before Dream snags Wilbur's hand once more- and head for the front door. 

There, as expected, stands Bad. His robes are dark and don't touch the ground, unlike Phil's. He's talking with Ranboo, a soft smile on his face. When he looks up to see Wilbur, his expression changes. Not into hate, like Wilbur was ready for, but into one of pure, innocent concern. 

"Hey there," says Bad, with a little wave. 

"Thanks for coming on such short notice," Phil calls from the stairs. He rushes down them in order to greet Bad properly, complete with a handshake. "We'll send you off with some food, mate- least we can do for all the trouble." 

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all!” Bad scours the group as if looking for Wilbur, pausing when he finds him. He smiles, hidden somewhat by his hood, and says, “Let’s take this upstairs, okay?” 

All the adults in the room bob their heads. Tommy gives them a skeptical look and Tommy peers over his shoulder, both trying to figure out what’s going on as Ranboo skitters back towards them. Wilbur knows he’ll have to help the others come up with some sort of lie if things hash out to be temporary. If not then- will he have to tell the boys the truth? That he’s not their Wilbur- that this world isn’t real? 

All of them head up the stairs, one after the other. Wilbur and Dream walk alongside each other, hands still intertwined, and Wilbur tries to draw in his breathing. 

What if he’s wrong? What if this- whatever this is- isn’t a dream? He could’ve been caught up in some sort of spell or could be hallucinating after getting attacked by a cave spider. (How in the world would he have been in the position to be attacked in the first place?) 

There’s only one thing Wilbur knows at the moment. He doesn’t want to _lose this._

Heedless to Wilbur’s inner thoughts, they all pile into Phil’s bedroom, where Techno awaits. This time, they shut the door behind them. 

As soon as they’re enclosed, Bad folds his hands in front of him and asks, “You all know this isn’t _our_ Wilbur, right?” 

“Yeah- we figured that out about an hour or so ago- right about when I came to get you.” Phil runs a hand over his face before carding it through his hair. “I should’ve told you while I was over but-” 

Before Phil can continue, Bad settles a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it! I’m just glad you called me in the first place. We’ll get this fixed up real quick and bring your Wilbur back home.” 

“What do you mean by that?” asks Techno. 

Bad adopts the classic ‘startled rabbit’ expression, wide, pupil-less eyes glowing among a dark canvas. “Oh- I guess I should explain it all. You all know, more or less, how the Nether works?” 

Phil and Techno share a look. Under any other circumstances- preferably those in which Wilbur’s brain isn’t spinning in circles, trying to keep up with everything happening on top of Dream’s proximity- he’d almost laugh. They all know how the Nether works: Wilbur’s probably the one who knows the _least._ Phil, after all, was the ex-king of the very kingdom that _found_ the Nether; Techno’s the one who was born there, all those years ago. Dream just happens to know a lot, of course, so Wilbur finds it hard to believe he wouldn’t. 

“It’s a separate world from our own, which you already know,” Bad sums up, just to help them understand his point. “There’s hundreds upon _hundreds_ of other worlds sort of like it- each one has a different sort of setting. Some are like the Nether we know, others are like the Overworld. There’s even some that are _very_ different, like the End! But, because there’s so many different variations of the Overworld, sometimes you get an overlap of people and settings, each with their own differences!

“Think of it more or less like multiple copies of the same book. Each one has the same cast of characters, but each one _also_ has a difference that sets it apart from the others. Just like how we were able to access the Nether, something must’ve happened to make the connection between _our_ world and _Wilbur’s_ world weak for a moment- weak enough where our Wilbur was replaced with this Wilbur.” 

Dream squeezes Wilbur’s hand so hard his knuckles turn white. “So, you mean that _our_ Wilbur is in that other world?” 

Bad nods. He seems _excited_ by all of this, oddly enough. Everyone else- Wilbur included- seems to be completely overwhelmed by all of this new information. “He’s probably going through the same thing this Wilbur is experiencing. For all we know, he could be talking with _that_ version of Bad just like you’re talking to me right now!” He claps his hands together, as if he just can’t contain his emotions. 

Phil, once more, rubs at his face. “So you mean to say that _our_ Wilbur and _this_ Wilbur were switched, yeah? Because of some… interworldly problems?” 

“Exactly.” 

“Is that _reversible?”_

Wilbur, suddenly, has a terrible, terrible thought. He doesn’t want it to be reversible. Even if that means that _this_ world’s Wilbur has to get used to a world far crueler than his own, he doesn’t- _Wilbur doesn’t want to lose this._ He wants to be able to wake up in a world where his father swears he’d never raise a blade to his chest. He wants to be able to wake up in a world in which Dream wakes up beside him, dressed in that familiar white tee-shirt he wears beneath his vibrant green hoodie. 

_I want this, more than I’ve ever wanted anything else in my life,_ he thinks and _hates_ himself for how selfish he’s being. 

“Completely reversible,” Bad promises. 

Maybe it’s only Wilbur’s heart that falls to his feet. Maybe it’s all of him, collapsing back onto the bed. He pulls Dream down with him and Dream is quick to check on him; he’s probably wondering if Wilbur’s simply extremely _relieved_ or if he’s panicked beyond relief. 

Phil begins chewing on his lower lip, probably trying to work through everything. “I don’t want to send you back there, mate,” he says, boldly. “But I can’t leave my Wilbur there, either. Could both of them exist here?” 

As Bad hums in thought, Dream blanches. _“Two_ Wilburs?” 

“There’s no reason why they couldn’t. I mean, it might get confusing and all, but I don’t… Well-” Bad pauses. His tone is worrying enough that Wilbur sucks in a deep breath, right through his teeth. “In every world, there’s a balance, right? And most times, if you lose one thing in one world, something else has to go in the other. That’s why, rather than us _gaining_ one Wilbur and the other world _losing_ one Wilbur, they were switched. There’s no telling what would happen if I opened a portal and didn’t _return_ Wilbur. Things might turn out fine or...” 

He knows what that _‘or’_ means. There’s no staying in this world, not unless he wants something catastrophic to happen to his own. (And, possibly, to this one.) 

Wilbur thinks hard about it, though- why bother to save a world that’s already crumbling? Why _not_ keep being selfish? It’s all he’s ever done.

But, then he thinks about Fundy, who has gone through so much. Wilbur had promised himself, when he’d been resurrected, that he would try to fix things. For as long as he was alive again, he could promise himself _that much-_ he would _try,_ harder than Ghostbur had, because he finally had the memories in order to drive him. On top of that, who is Wilbur to decide whether or not the world needs a restart? Isn’t that what he had done with L’Manburg and the button room? 

_Look at how well that turned out,_ he tells himself. 

No. Wilbur shouldn’t get to decide if the world should end, not again. And- he should keep trying. 

This world’s Wilbur deserves to come home. If Wilbur wants all of this badly enough, then he can go home to his world and he can _work for it._ He can make amends with Fundy and help Tommy heal and he can visit Dream in prison. 

But, his life won’t ever be just like the life he could lead here, if he stays. Fundy will still always harbour hate towards him. Dream will never love him like this Dream does. Tommy might never be the same boisterous kid. And- Techno might always hate him. Phil might always feel guilty and regretful. (Wilbur himself won’t ever have his wings back- won’t ever be able to fly like he often longs to do.)

Things might not change. After all, the most that Wilbur can do is make them _want_ to change. Once he does that, everything’s up to them. 

“The decision is up to you, Wil,” says Phil, quietly. “Why don’t we give him some space and figure out what we need to do in order to bring our Wil home, yeah?” 

Bad nods, one final time, and then everyone leaves- 

Everyone besides Dream, at least. 

There’s a few moments that the two spend, sitting in complete silence. Dream peers down at their joined hands and Wilbur closes his eyes, trying to figure out the solution to a problem that has more answers than the night does stars. 

Go home and try again or stay here and feel content? Go home and risk a chance at happiness or stay here and _live?_

He thinks of his Tommy, setting off fireworks with Phil before flinching back, trying to overcome it. He thinks of Tubbo, bees flying around his head in the pattern of a halo, body presenting his burn scars as though they’re medals. He thinks of Techno, setting a hand on his shoulder and telling him, _We’ll work on it,_ and of Phil, confessing that he still has nightmares about what happened, and of Fundy, shouting that all he wants is his _dad_ back.

He thinks of hotels and promising futures. Of second chances and recoveries. 

He thinks of an ending he never got to tell and thinks, too, that maybe he can rewrite it.

“You know,” says Wilbur, in these last few moments, “I never got to tell you how it ends.” 

Dream turns his gaze up, a confused look on his face. “How what ends?” 

“The story. _My_ story.” 

Another beat of silence floods through the room. 

“I already know how that ends,” he says. Then, Dream suddenly leans in close, bringing their clasped hands up to his lips. “It ends with me and you. Just like it should.” 

And it does. 

* * *

(Wilbur awakens to a world that is completely his own and realizes this ever so quickly. His body, once again, hurts. (It hardly feels like his own, but he's used to that.) He has that signature white streak he was "re-born" with and his hair is back to being long and coarse. There are stubs of wings peeking from his scarred back, caressed by both war and accidents.

Yes. 

He is home.)

**Author's Note:**

> have. tumblr,,, [unfinished-sympathies](https://unfinished-sympathies.tumblr.com/)


End file.
